


code: i'm in your hands

by captaincastello



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 08:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincastello/pseuds/captaincastello
Summary: “It’s just a haircut,” he says in the most exasperated voice he can manage. “Just get on with it so we can go back to watching the TV already.”Code: “You’ve simply been holding me for a long time and it shouldn't feel this good but it does.”But of course Hank won’t say that aloud and expose his true feelings, because he has mastered the art of omitting revelatory words, because God forbid he let his emotions leak out from the seams.





	code: i'm in your hands

**Author's Note:**

> my first hank/connor ficlet! :'D *dances*  
> i hope you enjoy this short piece~~

In these hands—each mechanical finger engineered to perfection, to execute the most precise and quickest of movements and maneuvers—weapons become even deadlier, raw punches hit their vital marks without error—and yet, in these same hands, Hank feels… safest. Comfortable. In total, unencumbered bliss.

The fingers cupping his jawline are gentle and careful as Connor works his way around different angles to check which parts of his hair to cut. Hank can tell by looking into Connor’s big brown eyes that a myriad of calculations are firing in his brain right now—and he belatedly realizes that it also means he has been staring at Connor for quite a while. He directs his vision towards anywhere else in the bathroom, feeling his face go warm.

He was going to do this by himself, yet Connor had insisted—an hour ago, Hank was spending a long time contemplating and grunting in front of the mirror, thinking and rethinking what hairstyle Connor might like, enough to make said companion suspect that something was going on in the bathroom. Now Hank wanted to avoid a scenario in which Connor comes busting in through the door, because he could not afford calling the repairman again for the second time this week (the first was after he and Connor unhinged their bedroom door for… reasons), hence, this.

“It’s just a haircut,” he says in the most exasperated voice he can manage. “Just get on with it so we can go back to watching the TV already.”

And of course, that’s code for: “ _You’ve simply been holding me for a long time and it shouldn't feel this good but it does._ ” But of course Hank won’t say that aloud and expose his true feelings, because he has mastered the art of omitting revelatory words, because God forbid he let his emotions leak out from the seams.

“Hold still, Hank,” Connor says, brown eyes cutting like a feverish dream into Hank’s skin with every passing second. “It’s my first time administering a haircut. It would be regrettable if I didn't do a good job.”

“How could you mess up? You’re just going to cut it a couple of inches shorter.”

Code: “ _Thank you_.” Plus a million other things because Connor cares.

A few months back, this wouldn’t have been possible. Aside from the fact that he hadn’t met Connor yet, Hank was pretty much an untouchable walking cyclone. Anyone he didn’t consider a friend would find their hand on his shoulder immediately brushed off in the most brusque way possible, accompanied by his signature glare. He has been navigating the world as a shell of depression and anger, which made it difficult for him to make new friends, which didn’t matter because he didn’t need any—until Connor came along.

In his own way, Connor broke through the walls he had unconsciously built up and fortified over the course of time, and got close enough to become someone who he could call his friend—and now even something more. Something he didn’t think he would allow himself to have again, something he didn’t think he’d ever deserve.

Now, sitting on a chair in his bathrobe, with Connor hovering around him wearing one of Hank’s big shirts and a pair of boxer shorts (let that image sink in), the two of them wearing soft cotton bedroom slippers they bought on a whim one late date night, and Sumo’s large frame nestled lazily by the door watching all this domesticity—this is a picture he totally had never imagined living.

“Hank?” Connor says, one hand finger-combing one side of his hair. “I’m going to start cutting now.”

They both look at each other in the mirror; a silent moment, a thousand little nothings and every-things, passing between them.

“Go ahead,” Hank finally says, more gently, less exasperated. “I trust you.”

Code: “ _I trust you completely; I know I’m safest in your hands._ ”

And he knows Connor understands this, from the slight color tainting his cheeks and the tiny embarrassed quirk of his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!  
> kudos/comments are love <3  
> xoxo


End file.
